


all war is the same war

by donutcats



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Unrequited Love, but between you me its Not, its very requited, jealous caleb, poetic comparisions, well its only from calebs pov so he thinks its unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutcats/pseuds/donutcats
Summary: There’s a cliche raging in Caleb’s body and he’s clenching his teeth. A war of his own, using his blood and bones as the battlefield, the synapses of his brain as the ammunition.





	all war is the same war

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this before ep 65, but it's currently airing as I type this out so. one day I'll learn how to do things on time.
> 
> I wrote out the bones of this in like an hour as a birthday gift for my friend Ashley through discord, and liked it enough to add to it and throw it up here. also, shout out to the Richard Siken bot on twitter for the title, since it inspired the idea for this fic.

Caleb has been fighting for most of his life. He can’t say all of, he had the privilege of a life before things caught fire, where he was happy.

But then he set it ablaze and he’s been fighting ever since. Fighting to survive, to live. To remember who he was and who he is. Constant battles that even if he can't win, he at the very least manages to come out the other side still breathing. 

He then finds himself in the middle of a war. Not a battle, but an actual war. A war he would have been part of regardless, had his mind never shattered to pieces. But this time he’s on the other side. Or, not really. He’s not _against_ the Empire, but he’s not for it. He’s on the other side of the Academy, and that distinction feels so very important. There’s a love there, for the Empire as a whole. He can feel it whenever he thinks of it. The towns he’s made memories in, all tucked safely behind the borders. But underneath that love, sits a coiling anger.

Anger at what the Academy and the Assembly and whoever else has their hands in this terrible pot, are doing to the Empire. Twisting it, poisoning it. Anger that it took him so long to _notice._

A light _tick_ grabs his attention, causing Caleb to blink back to the present. He got lost in his thoughts again. Right, they were on the road. Or, not literally. They have not seen a real road in at least two days. There’s another tapping sound, light and quick, right by his head.

Caleb snaps his gaze up and around, narrowing his eyes when they land on Fjord, standing a handful of feet away from where Caleb sits in the Dome. He’s not looking at Caleb, turned half away, the setting sun turning his edges golden. But there’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth, and a few loose pebbles by his boot. 

Before Caleb can say a word, to call out to Fjord, to make some quip about throwing rocks just to watch Fjord smile and deny it, Jester is there. Pulling at the edges of his armor, getting his attention. Pulling him away and towards what Caleb can barely make out as some spindly looking plant with bright flowers. Just like that, Fjord is turning away completely, walking further away from where Caleb sits. Something cinches low in his stomach at the sight.

The thoughts of the Empire seem to skitter to the edges of his mind as he focuses so keenly on the way her fingers curl along his wrist, as she drags Fjord closer. As Fjord leans in to look at whatever she's pointing at, bumping their shoulders. Caleb doesn’t hear much of what's said, they’re too far, but he could pick out the excited tone of her voice from miles away.

A bittersweet taste coats the back of his mouth and he forces himself to turn away. To look back towards the journals of information Beau has been letting him look at before they settle in for dinner. But the thoughts persist, the unnameable feeling that has been a low simmer in his chest for months now, that almost bubbled over at the quick glance he got of Fjord kissing Jesters cheek. He supposes this feeling does have a name, but if he does not put a title to it, then it does not have power over him.

Maybe his logic is flawed. Maybe for all his knowledge and intelligence, this is the one thing he’ll allow himself to be a fool over.

Caleb scribbles out something in his own journal, not quite paying attention to the words he was trying to transcribe from Beau’s. Thoughts of the Empire and war slip slide through his mind until they’re tangling together with the image of Fjord throwing pebbles at the Dome to get Caleb’s attention, of Fjord clasping his hand. Fjord smiling and laughing and complimenting and that way he gets so flustered when complimented in return.

There’s a cliche raging in Caleb’s body and he’s clenching his teeth. A war of his own, using his blood and bones as the battlefield, the synapses of his brain as the ammunition.

His head, telling him they deserve to be happy. That it was always them, together, since he first laid eyes on the pair all those months ago. There was no other course of action. It was inevitable and he should be happy for his friends.

His heart, yearning and wanting and never satisfied. Always whispering the what if’s and could have been's. If he did this differently or said that instead. The racketing noise it makes whenever Fjord tips a smile his way, or lays a hand on his shoulder without a second thought. A constant pounding of _want want want._

Caleb’s mind must be Xhorhas, if he tries to categorize it in a way that feels more concrete. Logical and good but going about it in a way that disregards the collateral damage of it's supposed truths. Jester and Fjord belong together and it makes sense, and if it hurts to think about then he must only become stronger.

That makes his heart the Empire. Thinking it has good intentions, convincing itself it’s in the right when really there’s a cancer at the center of it. _Jealousy._

The word sticks in the back of his throat, like tar. Had he not just decided he wouldn’t put a name to the churning scorching feeling that made a home in the hollows of his organs? Yet here he is, naming it. Giving it power. Allowing it to find purchase and squeeze at his heart, hooking it's claws into the curves of his ribs. Weighing him down with just the mere thought of the word.

Caleb does not know how long he sits, silent and thinking. _Dissociating_ , a detached part of his brain supplies, as he stares at nothing and fiddles with his pen. Feels the tip of it between his fingers and along his palm, the one and only thing he half focuses on.

Things tangle together, stretch themselves apart. Thoughts and feelings are jumbled one moment, and then they are so very removed from each other the next.

The image of Fjord holding a sword to his throat overlaid with Fjord's fingers wrapped around Caleb’s own. The Bright Queen looking at them in reverence, the relief grinding into despondency as he realizes the magnitude of it all. The Dodecahedron in his hand, Fjord quietly repeating _we are friends._ Shadowhand Essek with his slow smiles and fluid hands and Dunamancy, shifting into the sight of sea soaked bed sheets and Fjord's panicked breathing.

The journals rustle in front of him, and the movement catches at his unfocused attention, wrenching him back to the here and now. It’s just Beau, gathering her things, and the vague sense of panic at being startled dissipates. Grumbling to him about something but not expecting him to answer, and he's always so very thankful of the ways Beau has shifted herself around him, in the ways she knows how to handle his oddities without _much_ complaining. 

And then Jester is there, like a sudden snap of color and chatter. Barreling through the walls of the Dome, breezing past Caleb and already going on about the weird looking flower she found, and how Fjord wouldn’t let her pick it until she let Caduceus have a look at it and _isn’t it so pretttty Beau? It’s not poisonous! Well. Maybe not._

Caleb blinks, feels like he’s settling back into his body and his brain, like everything is taking it's time slotting into it's correct places. The first thing he notices are his fingers. Smudged and stained with ink from his pen, still clasped in his hand. The other is Fjord, settling next to him, a foot of space between them. He’s smiling at Jester, all fond and amused, and it makes something tremble in Caleb’s chest. Like the feeling he had when Nott first shot that gun of hers and he was standing close enough to feel the echoing sound in his bones.

“Hey,” Fjord nudges him, a handkerchief in his hand, head tilted at Caleb’s fingers and a smile tucked around his tucks.

Caleb blinks again. Accepts it quietly and starts rubbing at the ink. Tries to ignore the quiet little chuckle from Fjord. The way Fjord seems to sway slightly closer, as Caleb curls forward and _scrubs_. There's something grounding about the feeling, wiping his skin raw and watching as his fingers turn red, the pads still stained. 

"Missed a spot." Fjord rubs at the back of Caleb's knuckle with his thumb, making a face as the ink transfers to his own skin. "Ah, didn't think about that." And then he's taking the cloth back, sticking his thumb in his mouth to try and clean it off. Fjord smiles around the tip of his thumb, chuckling to himself, nudges Caleb again like it's a fond sort of joke.

Caleb has been fighting for a very long time now; in the middle of a war between nations, in the middle of a war in his own body. And he doesn’t think he has a chance in the Nine Hells of coming out victorious in either.

**Author's Note:**

> if you like my writing, please check out;  
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/kaijucats)  
> [my tumblr!](https://donutcats.tumblr.com/)


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